


this town is only gonna eat you

by swimthewholeriogrande



Series: get out, get gone [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Child Abuse, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Hurt Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Pennywise (IT), Pre-Relationship, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:21:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimthewholeriogrande/pseuds/swimthewholeriogrande
Summary: Richie comes to him, like he always does, and Eddieknows, like he always does.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: get out, get gone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548949
Comments: 5
Kudos: 195





	this town is only gonna eat you

**Author's Note:**

> Never written for these characters before so hope I did them justice! Please let me know if you enjoyed cause I'd love to write more parts for this concept, thanks for reading!

Eddie doesn't hear the first two rocks. The third one cracks his window. 

It's sticky-hot, dripping-ice-cream-hot, but when Eddie wakes up with the covers kicked off goosebumps rise all over his arms. A million things that could have woken him race through his mind, most of them full of teeth and glowing eyes, and none of them things he'd want to deal with right then. 

Then a stone the size of his fist nearly shatters the smeared glass and Eddie shoots up and scrambles to the window before Richie breaks the whole damn thing. He slides it up as quietly as he can, painfully aware of his ma just two rooms away, and leans out as far as he can towards the silhouette on the lawn. 

"Motherfucker!" he whispershouts as loud as he dares, feeling hot and scared, "you almost smashed it!"

_Only smashed your mother, Eds!_ is what Richie should have said - would have said - the other boy doesn't reply. His head is bent oddly to the ground; he''s wearing odd socks and no shoes and his bicycle is upended behind him, one wheel spinning forlornly.

"Can I come up?" he asks after a moment, and Eddie knows, he knows, he knows.

It takes Richie a long time to climb the drainpipe. Eddie hears him groan once, a few moments into the ascent, but all he can do is wait with his fingernails in his palms until Richie's fingers appear on the ledge. His nails are cracked and filthier than usual and Eddie swallows hard and thinks of AIDs and staph infections and malaria and -

But then there's Richie's face and Richie's shoulders, and Richie's chest and then his whole body tumbling over the sill and onto Eddie's worn carpet with a grunt. Eddie swears, half from fear and half from surprise, and glances in the direction of his mom's bedroom but thankfully there's no piercing _Eddieeeeeee!_There's just Richie, crumpled on the floor, and Eddie, looking at him, like it always is.

So Richie pushes himself up to his hands and knees by himself, and half turns to Eddie. In the soft yellow of the lamp, his face is torn and bruised, his glasses cracked and making a kaleidoscope of his irises. He smiles and blood trails down from a cherry-red slit in his lip.

"Hey, Spaghetti Man," he croaks, and "Fuck," Eddie hears himself reply, too loud in the dark; his body finally moves, almost mechanically, to lunge for the first aid kit under his bed. He restocks it studiously every month, and the sight of the fresh white bandages gives him an inane sense of control over the situation. .

By the time he turns back around Richie is sitting propped against the wall, long legs spindled out in front of him, his head tipped back. Blood gleams on his nostrils and chin like a slug trail, blackish in the gloom, and Eddie shudders.

"Jesus, Richie," he tries to say, helpless, but all that comes out is a strangled sort of sound as he starts to daub at the blood. Richie flinches blearily at the sensation but then scarcely seems to notice; his eyes flick around to rest on Eddie's face.

"Thanks, dollface," he drawls, "Ah thought ah was a gonah -"

"Beep beep, asshole," Eddie replies automatically, and Richie's torn mouth draws up into a smile. This close Eddie can see the red stains on the other boy's teeth where his gums slashed off of them, and the soot-like fingerprints around his throat. Eddie is crying, he realises, because he _knows_ who did this, and Richie frowns.

"Eds -"

"Shut up." Eddie throws the bloody cloth away and uncaps the bruise cream. "Shut up. Which one this time?"

There's silence for a moment as Eddie continues to work. Richie takes off his broken glasses with shaking fingers and folds them, careful and deliberate.

"My dad."

And Eddie snorts out a laugh, a caustic little giggle, because he should have known that! Should have known that when it's Richie's ma it's mostly bloody wounds from glass bottles thrown with lousy aim but a helluva lot of force, and when it's his da it's all bruises from his big dirty fists, so big, because Richie is so skinny and twiggy and it's not like he could, or Eddie could, or _any_ of them could defend themselves against a full grown adult -

_(Or a clown or a clown or a clown, but Richie could defend them there, oh yes siree, his fingers sure around that bat in the place with the cold and the wet and the dead and Eddie doesn't remember the sound It made when he hit It but he sure remembers the smell -)_

Richie's hands slide slowly over his then, making him drop the tub, and Eddie feels sick when the medicinal stink of it makes his eyes water even more. Without his glasses Richie's eyes are smaller and brighter; he has a burst blood vessel in his left.

But they aren't focused on Eddie's; Richie is looking away purposefully, towards the floor, and just like always Eddie can practically smell the shame radiating off him. There's only so much help Richie will acceptt; some nights he doesn't even stay, just slips back out the window once Eddie has done what little he can to keep Richie in one piece. Tonight, though, he is holding Eddie's wrists tight, and this is the moment Eddie feels guilty for enjoying, the quiet second where it is just EddieandRichie and no one else.

"You mind if I sleep here, Eddie Spaghetti? I can go down the hall and stay in your mom's bed if you want some peace and quiet. Though I can't guarantee we'll be quiet -"

Richie's fingers have gone lax as he speaks and Eddie swallows his disappointment at the same time he shoves at Richie's chest - gentle, barely touching, cause he knows Richie's da always kicks him hard. He slides the first aid kit back under his bed and scrambles into it with Richie bitching about him stealing the covers - on his own fucking bed - and realises with a pleasant sort of feeling that tomorrow is Saturday.

"Go to sleep, Trashmouth," he hisses, trying to find a position where Richie's elbow isn't in his stomach. "Go to sleep."

It's half an order and half a plea; because only when Richie sleep, like he always eventually does, snoring and sprawling and twitching with dreams and with pain, will Eddie let himself sleep too.


End file.
